The Thief, the Psychopath, and the Killer
by TheHipsterofBefore
Summary: When a man wakes up in a gang-ridden city with nothing, not even his memory, what is he to do? No one's ready to accept this man, except for one person.
1. Prologue: Demon within

**A/N: This is My first FanFic. It's not for the weak of heart or stomach, mostly because I have the infamous Sendicard Co-writing it. I warn of graphic language. Tell me what you think, and review! I crave opinions of my own work. As an author, in order to fix my mistakes, I need to be told whats wrong.**

**P.S.  
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**A special thanks to Sendicard for giving me crazy ideas for my stories at 2 in the A.m. and for the Cheese. Cheese is always nice as well.  
**

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The Psychopath, the Thief, and the Killer

Prologue: I tell this story, so that maybe one day it will be found, and retold. It centers around three men, all who have next to nothing in common, all who have completely different goals. So what brings them together, what drives them forward? I will answer these in this story, that of which details their life, and their death.

Chapter 1: Demon Within

(On an island farm off the coast of stilwater)

The small farm was ablaze, burning with the fumes of drugs, flesh, and rubble.

A man wearing an unsightly yellow suit, a lieutenant belonging to a gang called the Vice Kings, fled in terror. Fueled by the fear of being caught by the man with skin like snow, he ran..

His nostrils took in the stagnant smell of the fresh blood and burning flesh of his comrades, the looks of fear immortalized in their features.

Tripping over one of the burning piles of rubble and flesh, he was swiftly caught on the arm by a hand. Only a muted whimper could escape his lips, for fear had already taken his voice.

The only thing that kept the sweaty and exhausted man from dying of fear was a friendly face.

"Trayvon, what the fuck you doin' out here? That fuckin' pale nigga killed all our crew, and now he's after me!" The lieutenant shouted frantically.

The Lieutenant's savior, Trayvon, spoke quickly and quietly, not even stopping for a breath. "Well, I was coming back to save yo' ass. After he blew up our rides, I took one of your rides and booked ass, but I remembered you were still here, and I came back to hel..."

Trayvon paused, and for a moment the lieutenant had thought Trayvon had stopped to breath. That is, until he heard an ominous chuckle and watched as someone pulled out a dagger from Treyvon's back.

"Did you ever learn about run-on sentences?." His killer, an albino man, grumbled to Treyvon's now lifeless body.

Smiling a crooked and evil smile, he pointed to the now terrified lieutenant.

In reply, the lieutenant scrambled over the bodies of his fallen brothers in arms in an attempt to flee.

The Cold-hearted killer had caught up to him effortlessly, enjoying the man's suffering as he scurried for his life.

"Now it's your turn." the the malevolent man quietly whispered, causing the terrified lieutenant to fall into a fit of whimpering and pleading for his life.

The albino was an impressive, but very terrifying sight. Standing at exactly 6 feet tall, He was a very sleek man, odd considering how much strength he possessed. His apparel included a white and crimson coat, simply adorned and fashionable.

The pale man wore a white hood splattered with a small amount of blood on it, the crimson life-water dripping often.

A small Fleur-de-lis on a chain, signifying his allegiance, adorned his chest.

The lieutenant quivered as he remembered that the blood on his assailants clothing was not the mans own blood, but a collection of all the lieutenant's friends.

"Who are you?" The lieutenant asked, trying to get a little closure before he was killed at the hands of this man.

"My name is unimportant. I am the one who works in the shadows to protect those who live in the light." He savored the fear that came from the man now.

"W-wait! You're..." The man did not have the time to finish his sentence before his assailant shot him in the shoulder.

"Yes, that would be me." The albino mock-innocently spoke, allowing himself to smile slightly.

He slowly and ominously sauntered over to the lieutenant holstering his gun and unsheathing his dagger, Waving it precariously, as if he was slicing invisible necks.

"Why are you doing this to me? I haven't killed anyone!" the man screamed out, realizing too late it wasn't the right answer.

"Lies! You sent these men and women, your comrades, to their death instead of facing me like a man! You could have prevented these deaths!" the cold-hearted slayer shouted as he motioned with his hand free hand to all the burning flesh and carnage.

Sheathing his knife, he continued to glare into the lieutenants terrified eyes.

He then grabbed the man by the throat and relayed a very simple message to the cowardly lieutenant.

"Though, I'm not here to kill you. Instead, you're going to tell Benjamin King that the Saints are here to stay, and we aren't going to stop until every one of you are dead!"

He simply thrust the man through the side of a smoldering building, following him through the hole that was just made. He stomped his foot securely on the lieutenants' chest, and held his foot down without letting up as the man screamed in agony.

After the man had been thoroughly burned, the pale butcherer pulled up his foot, grabbed the man again, and whispered menacingly

"Now you run until you collapse." As he let go of the man and stood away.

The man wasted no time in turning tail. Scrambling past the slayer, the lieutenant crawled through the same hole he had created.

As for the albino...

* * *

"You're just going to let him run? Thats not like you. Shoot him, leave no survivors!" Desin shouted, agonizingly glaring at the slayer.

He was standing with one hand behind his back, hiding something, and angrily pointing at the "White Devil" with the other.

He looked completely opposite of the albino man. Black coat and fedora, and a lead ring. He stood as tall as the slayer, with a very muscular build. He had skin as black as a moonless night, and a beard that was snow white.

"I was sent here to send a message, and thats exactly what I've done" The Albino relayed monotonously. "I didn't come here to fight you, but I will if the need arises." His voice grew threatening.

The slayer despised the other man, for he stood as an example of the evil the slayer fought against.

Desin slowly pulled out something from behind his back. The slayer already had his weapon drawn and pointed before Desin could fully pull his own out. The slayer was only partially aware the barn he had entered was quickly filling with smoke.

"Now, you didn't think you could get me that easily, did you?" The slayer smugly smiled, while also managing to glare daggers at Desin.

"No, I was just hoping to do this." Desin threw a cup of tea from behind his back at the slayers face, burning his eyes before he had time to react.

Instead of seizing the slayers blindness, Desin only waited.

"This...this tea! It's so bitter!" the slayer sputtered, his berserk button having been pushed.

He roared barbarically, tossed his gun to the side, instead pulling out his knife from it's sheath and charging at Desin.

Desin in turn simply stood still, a slight smirk tugging at the ends of his face.

The slayer charged, not bothering with his own safety, while Desin had not moved an inch.

However, before he even reached his target, a loud crack sounded, and with it a falling piece of burning timber. That timber hit the slayer on his back, and he fell with an audible Thud.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you it was impolite to charge at people with knives? " as he pulled his own knife out of it's sheath and walked away, seemingly merging with the shadows around him.

Coupled with the smoke inhalation and head trauma, the slayers vision faded in and out. He was trapped beneath the large piece of wood, his breath short and weak. Without enough strength to escape all that was left for him to do was die. With that new resolution, his will to live gone, his vision grew dark, and finally he succumbed.

* * *

The door of the barn was nigh obliterated by the front of a very expensive vehicle.

A blue Italian sports car pulled up to the slayer, screeching to a halt inches away from him,

Inside the vehicle a very well dressed man readying himself for the worst of news. Hastily getting out of the vehicle he rushed to his fallen friends side.

Letting out a slight gasp, the mans only comment was " Not the way I would have expected you to go, old friend. May you at least find peace in the afterlife."

Kneeling down he took his friends still warm hand. Though, as he pulled away from his friend, the surprise was very apparent on his face when the hand didn't let go.

"I'd be much happier in this life if you didn't let me burn to death." the slayer groggily muttered, coming to.

The well dressed man took haste in lifting the piece of timber off his friend, burning his hands in the process. However, he didn't care, it was a very small sacrifice. Throwing the slayers arm around his own he assisted him to the car, which was still partially parked inside of the barn.

pulling out of the barns makeshift entrance, debris being pulled out as well, the well dressed man started a conversation.

As was custom to their car rides together.

"So, I'm guessing by the piles of dead bodies you got the job done? Ah, but don't mind my mindless banter, Julius will be wanting to congratulate you. He says we're some of the most useful members in the Saints. Isn't that great?" The man prattled on, the small island passing by rather quickly.

"Well, I'll make a special note to mention that you gave me so much support in killing these bastards." the slayer sarcastically replied to his optimistic friend in between coughing.

"Well I made sure you weren't barbecued, that has to count for something. Besides, I'm your ride outta here. " The man was absentmindedly biting his lip, obviously thinking about his friends close encounter with death.

The slayer leaned over the the window and revered the fresh air filling his lungs. He too was thinking back on it, glad to have a someone to help him in those kind of dire situations. He was almost going to share his feelings, but before he could, he spouted

"Well if you hadn't taken so damn long to get dressed, you could helped me kill those assholes." his feelings sinking back into himself again.

"It's not my fault I want to look good while killing. Can't I be a little classy while doing a dirty job like this? At any rate, I'm glad to leave that place behind us, 'cause it stank of carcass and drugs. I've got a lady friend to meet, and I don't think that would give her the right image of me. However that would make for a rather interesting dinner conversation." the man happily told his friend.

"I have a small question, if you don't mind me asking." the slayer motioned to the ocean surrounding the island "How exactly do we get off an island with a car?" the slayer questioned.

the well dressed man chuckled slightly and motioned his hand to somewhere in the distance "Theres a plane waiting on the other side of the island, we're going to take that."

the slayer again leaned back to the window and started a conversation he knew would last the whole ride home.

"So, what's this girls name?"

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**A/N: So tell Me what you thought. Was it good, great, terrible, meh? Oh! and this portion of the story was originally a 700 word oneshot by the one and only Sendicard. (P.S. It's over 2,128 words now...)**

**Lord Sendicard: Theres seems to be something missing...**

**Me: Yes... Wait, why are you invading my story?  
**

**Lord Sendicard: It's missing something...**

**Me: And what might that be?**

**Lord Sendicard: For Megatron! *Leaves the bad bomb at feet, dissapearing in a cloud of bats***

**Me: Shit. *Explodes into atomic dust***


	2. Honor among thieves

Chapter 2: Honor among Thieves

_(3 years prior, Downtown stilwater)_

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"Hey, just a small question, but what exactly am I looking at?" Arron questioned, puzzled by Donnies sudden interest in piece of junk vehicles.

"This beauty? This is one of the earliest vehicles to be imported to Stilwater, simply named 'betsy'." Donnie motioned to the picture of a very old looking vehicle.

"So, lemme get this straight, you want me to steal this vehicle and bring it back here? What makes you so sure they aren't just going to give me this piece of... "

"If artwork is how you were going to end that sentence, then I would say the owner is very fond of this kind of artwork, much like me." Donnie interrupted, pointing to a very muscular man in the photo. "He's the guy who owns the thing."

"However, unlike me the owner also owns a good deal of guns. He's also very protective of his stuff, partly because of thieves like you."

Arron could see why more so than a common thug was needed to steal from this man.

"Donnie, this guy looks like he eats nails for breakfast. Then washes it down with sawdust, and for dessert he punches himself in the balls. What makes you think I'll make it out of there alive?" Arron asked Donnie incredulously.

"Well, you're better than the other guys." Donnie spouted nonchalantly prompting Arron for the following question.

"What other guys?" Arron wearily asked Donnie.

"The other guys who've tried robbing him. He has quite the skull collection." Donnie said, a smile creeping it's way along his oriental face. "I'm just kidding about the skull thing, but seriously, everyone else who's tried to rob him is dead, though."

"Well, it's not the most dangerous thing I've ever done." Arron drifted into a memory of, as a kid, surfing on the tops of vehicles. "Alright, when do you want it be here? Any deadlines?"

"Well, no. Usually buyers want their vehicles as soon as possible, but for this they'll be as patient as possible to get it. So if it this job takes you seven years to get to, then that'll do. However, I suggest that you get it at your earliest convenience." Donnie grinned devilishly, causing Arron to suspect doing this job would greatly be in his favor.

"Lemme guess, I'll get paid quite a sum of money? I mean, thats really the only thing that would entice me. Exactly how much money are we talking about ?"

Arron got his business face on, which meant Donnie was going to lose a lot of money. "I say we go 20/80."

"Wow, you're being so uncharacteristically generous, giving me the 80. Are you sick? I think I have some tea in the kitchen." Donnie grinned, starting the dual that these two played constantly.

"That's cute Donnie, you think the 80 is for you. You do realize that I'm doing all the real work here, right? Getting that vehicle will be relatively easy for me. You, on the other hand, would end up leaving that place in a body bag." Arron leaned back in the chair he was sitting in, getting comfortable for the ensuing, unseen battle.

"65/35. You'd be lucky if you found even one person that would be willing to buy it. You don't have my kind of contacts, which I keep securely in a little black book." Donnie said proudly, suspecting Arron would never find it.

"You mean this little book?" Arron smugly held it up for Donnie to see.

"How did you find it?" Donnie asked, knowing this would be a loss on his side of the battle. Severely.

"It wasn't exactly inconspicuous, hiding underneath that very expensive, out of place vase. I know you Donnie, you're forgetful. You chose that vase because it's flashy and it'll make you remember something, presumably that it's where you hid your little book." Arron tossed the book into the air and as soon as it hit his hands again, it disappeared.

"I'm the master of concealment, Donnie. By the way, isn't this what pimps and brothels use to keep a bead on their customers?" Arron quizzically looked at the book, half expecting it to answer for him.

"Alright you got me, at this point you're the one cutting me a deal. Can we make 35/65 work?" Donnie sighed, knowing he'd lost. Which is how that song and dance usually ended anyways.

"However this is all just assuming that you ever make it back here alive." Holding his hand out to make the informal, but sacred agreement they made.

"Deal, I get 65 percent of the profits, but you shouldn't be arguing Donnie. Everytime we go to the Cafe I end up being the one to pay." Arron solidly shook the awaiting hand, signing a contract worth more than any document.

"Besides, you should know I'll make it through this. I'm the best damn thief in stilwater!" Arron boastfully exclaimed. A little too boastfully.

"Well, people have started to doubt your effectiveness, I mean, not me but..." Donnie trailed off, not hoping to offend his friend. "Well, nobody exactly knows who you are. How can you be the absolute best, but have no reputation?" Donnie questioned, Arrons only response being a sly look spreading across his face.

"Donnie, I'm the best because no one knows about me. The thief everyone knows about is the one that's always getting caught." Arron Impishly smiled and continued with "I'm the best because I can shake your hand and steal your wallet."

Tossing the wallet back to an incredulous Donnie, Arron stood, stretching his legs, he managed to yawn the words "Well, I'm beat. It was nice chatting with you, but I'm going to head home, maybe get an iced tea. Mmmh, Tea."

Before heading out the door, Arron tossed back a handful of other very valuable items.

"Oh and Donnie, try not to fill your pockets with so many valuable things. You're like a thieves wet dream."

With that he was gone, leaving Donnie with no doubt that he would get his money's worth out of the deal.

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**A/N: Tell me what you think. Good, great, terrible, meh? I crave reviews ^~^**


	3. Amnesiac

**Chapter 3: Rain**

_The City of Stilwater, Near a brothel in the Barri_o

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**A/N: Be wary of an imminent Halo reference...**

* * *

The weather of Stilwater was usually very sunny, but that day was different.

The heavens were crying as a man who defied the very nature of our world sought out his target. Now, by crying we really mean raining, but drama is everything.

The man, whose name was ironically Rain, was not the detail of our attention, however. The thing that drew second glances was not him, but his daughter...

* * *

"Daddy, why do we have to sit out in the cold like this?" the little girl, Rains daughter, moped sadly.

Sopping wet from the weather, her tail dragged on the ground behind her.

"We're here because I can't trust you to be alone in this world, and the bastard I'm going to trust you with seems to be enjoying himself a bit too much..."

Rain trailed off, finding himself entranced by the soft pitter-patter of the rain on the pavement. Irony at it's best.

"Well, why can't you stop the rain?" his daughter spouted, obviously irritated about their situation.

"That would disturb the balance of this universe." Rain said, snapping to attention as a man left the brothel across the street from the duo.

"Speak of the devil..." Rain muttered, keeping the man in his sights.

Holding his daughter hands, careful of her sharpened claws, Rain strolled across the street, closely aware of the traffic.

For anyone in the street that day, he and his daughter would appear as nothing more than a shift in the wind, a shimmer of light.

Memory Wiping sure does have it's benefits.

Rain approached in silence, years of training making his footsteps easily softer than the pitter-patter on the pavement. As he neared the man, he heard a chuckle, light, but loud enough to be heard by Rain.

"Sendicard, You just can't stay away, now can you?" the man stopped in his tracks, aware now of his counterparts presence. "I thought that was you that I felt in this universe."

"The name's Rain now. I see the title of Blood Prince hasn't left you too mighty for a chat with an old friend..." Rain cynically replied.

"Never..." The Blood prince said mockingly "By the way, what is it that brings you to me?" The Blood Prince questioned.

"My daughter is 'of age' by her Races' standards and I need someone to look after her. Important business and such." Rain casually spoke, though when his daughter looked away he leaned in close and whispered.

"Besides, she doesn't exactly fit in if you had already noticed."

With that, the Blood Prince actually took notice of her features.

She was a peculiar looking child, even for a Vampire's standards.

Her hair was silver, Her eyes a crimson red, spiraled in a very peculiar manner.

Her fangs were very obvious, as she had not yet learned how to hide them, a pair of bright white fangs that would make any Vampire child envious.

The most Peculiar and apparent features being her tail and ears.

Her ears were drawn back in fear of the strange man, her silver furred tail flicking back and forth in irritation.

"Daddy, Who's that?" the young Vampress said from behind Rain's legs.

"It's an old friend, don't worry, he's nice despite his scary looks."

"Okay..." the young girl said, believing her father wholeheartedly. Coming out from behind her father's leg, she managed a soft "hello," before disappearing behind the legs of her father again.

"This is actually the man you'll be with for the day, Alright?" Rain spoke softly to his daughter, knowing that she didn't do well with strangers, at least when there were people around.

"Oh and keep an eye on her, she's a crafty one. Remember, she's 'of age' which pretty much means she's like most human teenagers. I swear to the gods above, if she sneaks away, You have some hell to pay for."

"Wait a second! I never agreed to this!" The Blood Prince cried in protest.

"Well then, what do you say?" Rain questioned, raising an eyebrow to observe the answer of his counterpart.

The Blood Prince merely looked thoughtful, and finally after a long silence, replied with

"I don't mind, but you owe me a favor after this." The Blood Prince muttered flatly

And with that, the Entity gave his Daughter a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and other fatherly things.

"Be good, and stay with him!" Her father said semi-sternly.

All she heard was "Be bad, be very bad, and leave him when you get the opportunity."

* * *

"Now to find this guy..." Rain trailed off, the cool rain chilling him to the bone, or as chilled as an ice type can get. That's metaphorically by the way.

Pulling the Book from his seriously big pockets, He asked it "Where can I find that guy you told me about?"

"Which guy, that guy, or the guy before the guy who killed Lincoln? What about that one guy who messed up your haircut that one time." The book answered cordially.

Rain rubbed his temples, knowing the book wasn't about to give any useful answers. Sitting on a bench, he put away the book. "I guess I'll have to find him myself..." He muttered, adjusting his sunglasses.

Getting up from his sitting spot, Rain walked into the nearest alley, grumbling about how "He" was going to be a lot more trouble than "He" was worth.

* * *

"You know, it's not even the money anymore" one of the thieves began, leaning against the wall of the alleyway. "Now it's all about the rush. How much can I take without them knowing?"

"Say it any louder, and people will have no doubt that you've stolen from them." Arron barked at the thief, walking over to his normal spot on the pile of concrete blocks. "Seriously, how did you make it into THIS circle of thieves?" Arron growled, glaring at the obviously new thief.

The three other thieves congregating in their alleyway had bemused smiles, as the newest member of their cadre of ne'er do wells made a fool of himself.

"Who do you think you are, telling me about being a thief?" the new thief questioned arrogantly.

"Well, first, you should really watch who you're talking to. Second, you need to keep your 'habits' a little quieter. Third, you really need to keep your money in a more secure place."

Holding up his prize and smiling coyly the way only he could, he held up all of the thieves ill gotten goods. Tossing them over to the open mouthed thief, he chuckled and turned his attention to the sidewalk, looking for an affable "Catch"

"Then you must be... Master Thief!" The thief exclaimed, causing the glare of every thief in the group.

If you're confused, I will elaborate.

In the city of stilwater, thieves are all too common, but not as expected. Most thieves belong to a certain circle of thieves, posing as nonchalant conversationalist and preying on the rich.

One particular thief doesn't; Arron. He isn't a leader, because leading thieves is not a task anyone can do. Though they give him a certain respect, having been dubbed "Master thief".

"Yes, I am master thief, and if you ever call me out on it in public, the next time someone finds you will be in a bodybag." Arron coldly spoke, his tolerance at a minimum. He got up from his spot on the concrete, and wandered off, presumably to another circle, four more wallets in his possession by the time he got to the end of the street.


End file.
